


my hands are scarred by things I haven't done

by jinrou



Category: K-pop, SHINee
Genre: (again not of the main characters), (but not of the main characters), Alternate Universe - Paramedics, Blood, Character Death, Gen, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Key also appears for one scene, References to Depression, Self-Harm, Suicide, and Minho sorta appears, i still don't know how to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 23:04:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10863954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinrou/pseuds/jinrou
Summary: What people don’t realise is that a paramedic is the first line of defence, the first barrier between their patient and death.





	my hands are scarred by things I haven't done

**Author's Note:**

> For the Just Kiss 2017 fest!
> 
> For prompt: 19. red.
> 
> Please heed the warnings seriously as this fic deals with quite a few dark topics. I apologise for any inaccuracies re: the paramedical profession since I do not, nor have I ever, studied medical science and/or the paramedical profession.

Jonghyun values Jinki as a partner because Jinki is the epitome of Calm and Textbook, almost literally, able to rattle off procedures word for word and demonstrate the correct way to seal an open wound while their patient goes into shock, sometimes coming close to dying on their hands.

(Some have, and those are the nights that Jonghyun tries to drown in alcohol, even if he hates himself when he wakes up. He doesn't wake up from nightmares with hands drenched in red, a limp body in front of him -- instead he just feels the way shock does. Like his body had been plunged into an ice bath and he's numb, disconnected from his own skin, and he can't get any sleep on those nights.)

"Promise to get through the night in one piece." Jinki always makes sure they link pinkies before they sign in. And because their job is taxing on both mind and body, Jonghyun knows Jinki doesn't mean just physically.

"I promise," Jonghyun always says solemnly as they sign in, and Minho raps on the door of the van.

"We have a call downtown. Male, early twenties, gunshot wounds."

 

What people don’t realise is that a paramedic is the first line of defence, the first barrier between their patient and death. That those minutes in the van were precious minutes where millilitres of IV were counted out faster than seconds, and that the most important thing was to keep a calm head, precision, and to _breathe. Breathe. Can you tell me your name?_

Most times, Jinki delegated Jonghyun to assessing the patient’s mental state -- if they remembered their name, the date, and where they were. He always said it was because Jonghyun’s voice was more soothing and reassured even the most panicked patients, eyes careful when he shined a torchlight into them. In response, Jonghyun always delegated Jinki to assessing the injury anyway, because Jinki was quick on his feet and quicker in his thoughts, able to remember the correct dosage and could keep his hands steady as he haphazardly stitched up wounds or splinted broken limbs, movements quick.

They work in time with each other, cogs moving smoothly together as they try for their common goal of keeping their patient alive and comfortable, wheels spinning as they made their way to the hospital, time ticking.

 

"I'm not sure why you chose this... profession," Kibum says as he eats his toast, already dressed in his crisp suit on the way to the office.

Jonghyun had just come home, uniform in one hand, soaked (again) with blood and exhausted. It'd been a bad night -- they'd been too slow on the boy with gunshots, and had to pump a girl's stomach thanks to a bad cocktail of some unidentifiable drugs and alcohol. Those are always his least favourites, because they were so easy to just avoid.

"I'm not sure why either," he says, and stifles a yawn into his wrist. He throws his dirty clothes into the bucket with yesterday's uniform (which has excrement on it too, lovely) and runs a finger through his hair, flinching when it catches on dried blood.

"You know it'd be easy to just quit and do something else."

They have this argument on a weekly basis, usually on the morning after a particularly trying night, when Jonghyun's walls are ready to collapse with the softest blow. He can recite the reasons he keeps at the back of his mind, but they always seem weak in the morning sun, especially faced with Kibum in his impeccable client-appropriate clothing.

"I know," Jonghyun says simply, and steals the other piece of toast. Kibum always complains ("avocados don't come cheap!") but he's a softie at heart and always makes sure boiled water is ready for Jonghyun's tea in the morning. "I just can't, not right now."

"You don't have to martyr yourself," Kibum says as he methodically sweeps the kitchen counter of crumbs. "Don't do this just because it's the 'right thing to do' -- do it because you want to."

Jonghyun takes a deep breath, and makes sure he isn't lying to himself when he replies.

"I do. I am."

 

Night shifts are always worse than daytime shifts, as if the Devil likes to come out to play when the sun's down, and Jonghyun's insomnia means that he's perpetually assigned the graveyard shift with Jinki.

"Why do you do this?" Jonghyun asks Jinki quietly when they're waiting for a dispatch notice. It's a lucky quiet night, the only calls an elderly lady who had had a stroke and then a boy falling down the stairs in the dark. They'd only needed to set his leg and then turn him over to the ER, gratefully returning to their van after.

"It's what I'm good at," Jinki says. He's cross stitching to pass time, a flower blooming under his hands. Jonghyun knows that he deliberately leaves the finished ones tucked into the beds of the ER when a particularly borderline patient is admitted, like it's a physical embodiment of hope or a prayer.

"Siwon quit last week," Jonghyun says, and Jinki hums, threading some red. It's not unusual, but they'd all pegged Sunyoung to be the next one to quit, her eyes more hollow than they'd been a year ago.

"I heard. I think someone new is coming in to replace him. Siwon and Heechul were a good team."

Jonghyun twists his lips. Heechul is good -- fast and experienced, hands always steady and precise, but he's bad with words, not good at comforting panicked patients or relatives. Siwon balanced him out with his calm and reassuring demeanor, always knowing exactly what to say, but he was a bit of an idealist. And idealism always dies quick.

“I hope he gets someone good,” Jonghyun says and takes a sip of water. He blinks away the tiredness and rubs at his face. 

04:27 - still one and a half hours to go.

“I guess we’ll see,” Jinki says, and cuts his thread. 

Finished.

 

He'd originally wanted to work in pediatrics, because who didn't? This was when he still had stars in his eyes and the med school acceptance letter in his hand.

They'd given all the students tests after their first year, after they'd been taught to memorise the names of all the parts of the brain and the procedure for a patient going into shock.

At the time, it had seemed random -- Gallup surveys, MBTI tests, reactions and beep tests, memorisation. They'd even had half hour chats with a psychologist, each of them shuffled into a small, stuffy room with Dr Kim towards the end of the week. But looking back now, on that first year interview, Jonghyun knows that it'd been how they'd selected streams, and how Jonghyun had gotten his strong recommendation for the paramedical stream.

"You're quick on your feet and show strong reaction times," Professor Hwang had said, smiling. "Your memorisation scores could be improved--" Jonghyun winced at that, knowing he'd mixed up the metacarpal bones "-- but overall, you demonstrate genuine caring and compassion, and work well under pressure. We recommend you to join the paramedical stream."

She had slid the official envelope over, full of his test scores, as well as a form asking him to fill out his preferences.

"I know you had aspirations of becoming a pediatrician, but following your test scores last semester, that might be difficult," Professor Hwang said gently, and Jonghyun flinched again. "However, I have faith that you'll become an excellent paramedic."

 

Half the cohort had dropped out at the end of the first year, but Jonghyun stuck through it.

"Honey, you don't have to put yourself through this," his mother always said when she called, and he knew that she could feel the exhaustion dripping from his voice.

"I know, but I want to do this." If he said it enough times, he'd believe it.

At least this way, he'd be able to save someone.

 

"I save other people because I couldn't save my brother when it counted."

Jinki's stitching a peony, pink trimming on the edges of the petals. The cloth's maybe only the size of his palm which makes the flower look even more tiny and delicate. His needle never wavers though, and Jonghyun watches as he finishes the last petal.

Their shift is usually 10PM - 6AM, which means their defences are always down. Jonghyun always figures that people are more honest because the night somehow seems more sympathetic to their worries and pain, and that secrets whispered here won't exist in the morning.

"What happened?" Jonghyun sits on the gurney inside the van, stretching out his legs and hunching his shoulders. Minho's in the front, waiting for a call on the radio as he watches a silent soccer game on his phone.

"He killed himself," Jinki says simply. "And I couldn't help him. I couldn't save him. So I help those that couldn't be saved."

"Don't be a martyr," slips out of Jonghyun's mouth, and Jinki punches him lightly on the shoulder.

"I'm not. You shouldn't, either."

" _Woman in mid 40s, collapsed due to unknown reasons, pulse normal but breathing stopped. Teams close to the university, please respond, over._ "

" _Team C, we're near the town hall. We can be at the university in five minutes, over._ " Minho's voice is loud, and Jinki trades a tired smile with Jonghyun. It's 5:12, which means this might be the last case of the night.

" _Team C, please proceed. 1447 Elizabeth St, over._ "

" _Copy that, over._ "

 

Rarely do they get good calls, but sometimes they do. Like a pregnant woman’s water breaking at 2AM, her partner being too nervous to drive her to the hospital.

“How long ago did your water break?”

“At about two-ten?”

Jonghyun glances at the clock (02:22) as Jinki reclines the stretcher so she’s sitting up, her husband taking panicked deep breaths beside her.

“Oh my god I’m going to be a father, oh my god I’m going to be a father,” he repeats under his breath. About three minutes into the ride, he puts his head between his knees and starts breathing deeply. The woman’s laugh is high and joyful, and Jinki and Jonghyun trade a smile.

“How are your contractions?” Jonghyun asks, and it’s easy to let his happiness leak into his voice, to let it stretch a grin across his face.

“Manageable, at the moment,” she says just as her face twists and she takes a few deep breaths.

“Honey?” the man says from between his knees, and she breathes before answering.

“I’m fine, we’ll be at the hospital soon.”

“Okay, if you say so,” he says, and Jonghyun grins even as he takes her blood pressure and pulse.

“Would you like anything to make you feel more comfortable?”

“I’m fine,” she says. “I’m more worried about him than the baby, to be honest.”

“Me too,” trickles out of Jinki’s mouth, but it’s loud and even Minho hears, joining into the laughter a beat later.

“Would you like something to relax you?” Jonghyun offers the man, and Jinki widens his eyes. They always have to document any medication they administer, and giving any to non-patients is strictly forbidden.

Jonghyun just holds up a syringe of electrolytes, though, and Jinki relaxes as he continues monitoring the woman’s blood pressure.

“I’m okay,” the man says after a moment, and straights to lean against the back of the van. “I’ll be fine. I’m gonna be a father!”

“Yes,” his wife says, and entwines their fingers together. The smile they shared is private and full of unspoken memories. “We’re going to be parents.”

 

When they sign into their shift the next evening, Taeyeon stops them before pointing them to the maternity ward.

“I think there’s a couple who wants to thank you,” she says, eyes twinkling. “Ward 237, Bed 6.”

Jinki and Jonghyun tiptoe their way through the hospital, footsteps echoing in the empty hallways before they reach the ward, slowly sliding the door open. It’s filled with mothers resting beside their babies, quiet breathing and snores filling the room, and Jonghyun spots a familiar face towards the back.

“How did it go?” 

She looks tired but triumphant, her husband passed out in the bed next to them as their newborn rests in the cradle.

“It was fine, just more painful that I expected. Thank you for all your help last night.”

“You’re the one who did all the work,” Jinki says, and slips her a cross-stitched violet. Jonghyun knows from the book Jinki keeps in his bag that violet is for happiness, and he can’t think of someone more fitting of it.

“You’re the one who got me here,” she says, and looks over to her child. “Would you like to say hello to Avery?”

The rest of the night is spent in a kind of high level bliss, just remembering the smile on the woman’s face, and Avery’s content face as he slept.

It makes all the other nights worthwhile.

 

Whenever Jonghyun goes home for dinner, he’s reminded of the gap in the family, the hole that was made over twenty-five years ago and was never filled.

When Jinki asks him why he became a paramedic, and he can only come up with, “I want to save people, because I couldn’t save them when it counted,” he knows the words aren’t enough. He knows Jinki thinks Jonghyun means his father, stopping his father from leaving their family behind while he was five and his sister was eight, sending their family into near-poverty.

But really, Jonghyun doesn’t care, can barely remember his father besides the intimidating set of his shoulders and a face that made you beg for approval.

What Jonghyun means, is he wishes he could’ve saved his mother.

Saved her from the years of working on the streets late at night, selling street food and coming home smelling of grease and fishcakes. Saved her from the quiet nights of sobbing in a bed that once slept two, nights with less than four hours sleep. Saved her from the loneliness that drowned her alive, and a depression that made it difficult to even smile.

Jonghyun learnt at the age of five that the hardest people to save are those hurting from themselves. So he worked hard to make sure that even if the soul was hurting, the physical body was still alive.

 

"Has anyone ever, you know, died? Like, while in the ambulance?"

Her eyes are wide and fascinated, and Jonghyun throws back the whiskey she'd bought him after she found out he was a paramedic.

 _Plenty_ , he wants to say.

Like the man who'd been stabbed fifteen times by his wife, bruises and scrapes covering the right side of her face. Or the boy who'd had an asthma attack and stupidly, _stupidly_ , they hadn't refilled their supply of rescue meds and he'd been too far gone that even Minho driving double speed hadn't saved him. Or the family who'd been in a car crash, with the oldest daughter whose skull had been so shattered that they'd seen brain matter and Jonghyun had to keep swallowing so he wouldn't throw up.

"Yes." Jonghyun puts his glass back down on the counter, and his date looks at him, eyes wide. He makes sure to keep looking away even as the bartender comes over and refills his glass, sympathy in her eyes.

"Wow," Jenny (he thinks, he had tried to forget her name, honestly) says. "What you do is amazing. What's it like in the ambulance? Like, do you sometimes put the siren on to get through traffic faster?"

She, honest to god, giggles at her own joke, and Jonghyun can't take it anymore, just slaps some money onto the counter and nods to the bartender (Amber, he thinks her nametag says).

"On the house," Amber says as she distracts Jenny with some pink soda, and Jonghyun quickly exits, pulling his coat on halfway through the doorway.

But last night had been a bad night, the only reason he'd even been in the bar the first place.

Actually, it'd been a downright awful night, with a huge motorway pile up thanks to it being the end of a long weekend, and everyone rushing home for work the next day. Even the three teams on standby had been pulled in, police fencing off the scene as they worked to keep even just one person alive.

And failed.

A fatal collision with at least four cars full of families, two of the cars' motors exploding so suddenly that Sungmin had copped a piece of shrapnel in his left arm and all paramedics had been forbidden to approach the vehicles until it'd been deemed safe by the police.

"There are people dying in those cars and you just want us to sit back?" Heechul had bitten out at the police officer, and he'd at least had the tact to look ashamed.

"There's no point for you to be risking your lives by running in," he had tried to say soothingly, but even Jonghyun felt the twinges of anger at that, at war with the bone-deep tiredness. "That might cause more needless deaths."

"All death is needless," Jinki had said softly from beside Jonghyun. Jonghyun had reached out to grasp his hand, needing something to steady himself, and Jinki had gently entwined their fingers.

 

_are you free?_

_I can be. did you want some company?_

_yes please_

_give me a place, I'll meet you there._

 

"I broke my promise," Jonghyun tells his glass, and Jinki nudges Jonghyun’s knee with his own.

"To get through the night in one piece?" Jinki sips slowly at his bourbon, coat still buttoned all the way up. He looks tousled, like he'd just come from bed, and Jonghyun would feel bad if he could dredge up any feeling except disappointment and failure. Hopelessness. Like he isn't enough, even though he knows he's giving all he can, and more.

"Yeah, that one." Jonghyun toys with his bracelet, the silver chain slightly copper-y with rusted blood that won't come out. He should probably get it professionally cleaned and put it away, but the weight reminds me that there's a reason he's doing this.

"Do you remember--"

"Yeah."

There's one case they won't ever forget, Jonghyun's sure of it.

Whenever they have a particularly difficult night, with more patients than they can handle, more blood and stricken relatives and friends than they can bear, Jinki always presses his personal, sewn iris to Jonghyun's hand and reminds me not to break. To continue hoping and believing.

Because that girl hadn't.

It'd been an early call, maybe at 11PM or so, when they were called to a relatively nice double storey home in the wealthier district. When Minho pulled up, lights ablaze in all the windows, Jonghyun's stomach had already sunk. He knew what the call had come through with -- girl in mid-teens, bleeding out, north district.

These kind of calls were rarely ever kind.

They'd been ushered in by a stern-faced man with a woman clutching a dressing ground at her neck, eyes wide and tears gathering, but refusing to fall.

"She's in the upstairs bathroom, on your right. Second door."

The parents had stayed downstairs, stone-faced and still. Later, Jonghyun had remembered the blood on the mother's wrist, the boy who couldn't be older than eight huddled on a sofa, a small sausage dog beside him. But in that moment, he just registered the stairs and the gleaming bathroom painted in streaks of red, harsh lines on the girl's wrist, so in contrast to the thin, delicate skin and her peaceful face.

"Can you get a response?" Jinki had asked as he pushed fingers against the girl's neck. Jonghyun took out his torch and shined it in the girl's eyes, but the eyes stayed dilated, her head limp and lifeless.

"Can you get a pulse?" Jonghyun had responded, pressing an already soaked towel to the girl's wrist even after he dropped it above her face. The sound it had made when it hit her face echoed in the bathroom.

The bath water had been startlingly pink. Pretty.

"No."

Jonghyun bit his lip and traded looks with Jinki.

"Let's take her out."

They'd rushed to the hospital, hooked up bags of A-positive to her in the van, trying to jumpstart her heart but it'd been impossible. The family had declined to ride to the hospital but had followed in their car, still silent.

It'd been hard not just because of her, but because of the girl's brother, clutching his teddy bear in the Emergency Room, and how fragile the mother had seemed as she held his hand. It had been hard, not just because of the way the blood splattered tiles kept flash in Jonghyun’s mind, but because the father's first words, when told his daughter couldn't be saved, had been, "I guess she got what she wanted, in the end."

Minho had had to drag Jonghyun away before he'd said anything he regretted, Taeyeon watching worriedly from the reception desk.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Jinki had continued before leading them over to Taeyeon. "I know it's hard during this time, but we would appreciate it if you could fill out these forms to make the process a bit easier. Taeyeon will be able to discuss discharge procedures with you."

That'd been the first time Jonghyun had cried on the job, rather than bottling it up until he was home and letting Kibum and Comme Des and Garcon comfort him. It'd been the first time he'd had to wander away from the van while they waited for the next call, their job finished for the moment.

It'd been the first time Jinki had found him locked in the staff breakroom, hands pressed to his eyes and breath stuttering in his chest, trapped and wanting escape.

"Tonight wasn't easy," Jinki muttered as a halfway point, taking a step into the room before Jonghyun turned and found himself enclosed in a hug he desperately needed.

He couldn’t imagine having those words uttered about him when he died, so cold and detached, like his death had barely mattered. He couldn’t imagine his mother’s face blank and devoid of emotion, like it wasn’t her own child who had died but rather a distant relative or friend she barely knew and didn’t want to care about. 

But he could imagine his mother and sister sitting there like the brother had been, hands clutched tight around the only thing that was keeping them grounded. Hoping that the world in the hazy hours of early morning was just a dream, and that maybe once the sun rose, everything would be different.

"You mean that tonight was fucking difficult," Jonghyun muttered into Jinki's shoulder, and Jinki's hand tangled itself in Jonghyun's hair.

"Just cry it all out," he said soothingly, other hand heavy against Jonghyun's back. "Get it all out. We have a long night ahead of us."

That'd been the first time he'd broken his promise to make it through the night in one piece, falling apart on the linoleum of the hospital.

It'd only been later, on a ride to pick up a man who'd dropped a cup and stepped in a handful of broken glass that Jonghyun realised that the shoulder of his own uniform was wet -- not from the pink bathwater, but from Jinki's own tears. But Jinki had, at least, made it through the night in one piece.

 

"Why do we do this?"

"Because our priorities are all over the place," Jinki says with the air of reciting a Fact.

"Because we're martyrs," Jonghyun repeats drily, and Jinki laughs.

"We must be masochistic to go through this every day."

"Oh, definitely."

Alcohol makes him loose and affectionate, but a bit gritty and dirty. A bit out of control, which he hates.

Alcohol makes him reach over the bar and hold Jinki's left hand between his own two, and look him in the eyes, clutching the hand a bit tight but not really wanting to let go because.

Because it's what grounded him in the dark nights as they speed out on dispatch notices, Minho concentrating on the roads and the two of them trading glances, mouthing the words that had come over the intercom and preparing any equipment they might need.

Because Jinki's hands had saved so many lives, saved his own on countless nights when he'd reached over and held Jonghyun's tight, telling him that it'd be okay. That they'd get through the night.

Because Jinki's in this profession the same reason he is; because it feels like a penance. Because they both had people they couldn't save, once upon a time.

Because no one else understands what it's like on those dark nights, dropping off a patient at the hospital and just waiting for the next call, the darkness of the night engulfing them until all they can think of are the faces of worried friends and family. Reliving all their patients, the good and the bad.

Thinking about what went well and what went horribly. What they could've done better -- always better. To save just one more life.

"Thank you," Jonghyun says, and drops a kiss onto the back of Jinki's hand. "For being there. For making sure I don't fall apart every night."

Jinki's genuine smile always crinkled the edges of his eyes.

"Likewise."

**Author's Note:**

> title is taken and slightly modified from 'it's not right for you' by The Script.


End file.
